Blood Will Out
by Maya Beebop
Summary: Dracula 2000Half a century's gone by, and all Mary Van Helsing wants is to ensure that Dracula will never be resurrected, erring on the side of excess.  But no plan is foolproof and the last thing she wants him to discover is the one mistake she made
1. Always The Same Damned Dream

_It has been only a week since the last time I laid eyes on the silver casket. Years of living here, decades even; and in my weaker state I fear I can only resist the draw of the vault for mere days. _

_Simon visited yesterday, a rare pleasure for me. He has come but twice in the past five years; but he is so busy with his family in England that I can forgive him. I just wish he'd contact me more often; I do miss his company._

_It just gets so lonely here in my father's old building. Carfax Antiquities is centuries old, and the shadows are deep and dark when no one is here but me. My few customers and employees all leave before sunset; I suppose they are just as scared of the basement as I am, even if they have no idea what is kept down there. Perhaps it is some animal instinct that is left over from the stone-age days when man had to rely on gut instinct to tell him when something was dangerous._

_Whatever the case, I recently took new precautions against theft or break-ins. My father's old designs were rather outdated in these days, so I used a combination of electronically controlled traps and old-fashioned pitfalls, as I am not ignorant of how easily computers can be thwarted._

_These inanimate guards however cannot stop me, and I believe that I am my greatest weak spot. I loathe seeing myself in the room with that horrid coffin, staring at it, wondering if he is in there. Wishing I knew what he was thinking, if he could see me and know that I was still very much afraid of him. Too often I realize I stay down there for hours and my mind begins to play tricks on me. I believe I see a stream of blood dripping from the cross-shaped lock, or I see mist spilling out of the hermetically sealed sides. But then I blink and the images are gone, and I am chilled to the bone._

_I am getting too old for this.

* * *

_

Mary put down her pen and sighed. She took off her thin reading glasses and set them down on the cover of her thick leather-bound journal. The pen was replaced in a cup full of writing utensils and she stood, her gray dress' wrinkles falling away as she moved across the room.

She stopped across from a large portrait of her father, Matthew Van Helsing. She let a small smirk escape her lips; she was almost as old now as he was when it was painted. The natural years had been kinder to her, however; her brown hair had only a few gray strands weaving through the curly mop, and her skin was still ruddy and healthy, if slightly worry-wrinkled. Her form was slender as it had always been, and her eyes still glowed with her jaded life.

Her father hadn't even been that lucky. Using the beast's blood had given him youth, but it had paled his skin, sunken his eyes and gave him a death's head likeness. The man was only in his "sixties" when he'd died, not counting the extra century he'd stolen from the demon. Mary was in her late fifties and looking much better.

"What did you plan to accomplish?" she asked quietly of her father's oil-painted stare. "Surely you never thought he could always be contained?"

Like every time she questioned the portrait, her father remained silent and left her to her own interpretation of his gaze.

Mary sighed again and blew out the gaslights. After moving to London, she'd fallen in love with the old-world charms and opted for them instead of the harsh electricity she'd taken for granted in New Orleans.

The hallway she walked along was cold and dark, but just as she touched the door to her chambers, she thought she felt a breath of warm air.

_No. Do not turn around. Do not entertain the fancies and they will go away,_ she told herself, steeling herself and pushing the door open. She closed it quickly behind her, breathing easier when she saw her canopied bed across the room, the deep green drapes blowing in the heated air from the vents behind it.

She changed for bed, donning a long white bed gown and easing herself under the covers. She gave a quick prayer that she wouldn't have one of the nightmares that had come less and less over the years, and she closed her eyes.

* * *

_The walls are lined with skulls. Candlelight plays over the wet walls. A rat squeals in the darkness below and scuttles off._

_She moves on and comes to the final cross-barred door. Pulling a lever, the door pulls away and she slowly moves into the chamber within._

_Mist hangs over the floor. The moonlight, coming from some unnamed source, gleams off the silver fixtures that line the casket. She moved closer and traces the lock, debating whether or not to turn it._

Open it

_She looks up and gasps. He's crouching right next to her, on the other side of the coffin; reaching out and touching the back of her palm. He pushes slightly, urging her to unlock it. _Mary, let me free. You can't deny your blood kin.

_She tries to scream, but he places a finger over her lips, immediately silencing her. _Why do you fight me? I could give you everything. Your life, your youth. Your _love_.

_She feels a tear trace its was down her cheek. Simon…_

What do you have to lose?

_And he grabs her, pulling her over the coffin, close and kissing her deeply, passionately, and it feels like he's tearing her apart from the inside out…

* * *

_

"No!"

Mary's eyes snapped open and she looked around. It was dark. And it was cold. No, _damp_. It was wet, and her bare toes were freezing.

She realized where she was with horror. The doorway standing between her and the inner chamber was right in front of her. She'd been sleepwalking and had almost gone inside!

She shook her head violently and winced. Damn that dream! She never had a variant in the forty years she'd been here. Always the same damned dream. She really should see a doctor.

Turning on her heels, she went back up the passage and closed the vault with an air of relish. _That's right, you monster_, she thought as she slammed the heavy metal door closed. _I always come through in the end. You'll never get me in that room again_.

And he wouldn't. She would lock herself in her room from then on out. She was convinced he was there, whole and waiting for her to slip up. But she wouldn't; not ever. Never again.


	2. Easy As Apple Pie

"Ms. Van Helsing? We need a sign-off on the new shipment."

Mary looked up from her desk to see Richard standing in the doorway. Richard was one of her employees, one of the major supply room managers.

"Yes. Bring it here," she instructed. He placed it in front of her and she reached into a drawer to pull out the pen she used specifically for endorsing this sort of thing.

She felt her finger get nicked on something sharp, and she realized she'd grabbed the end of the pen. Pulling it out, she dipped the nip into a well of black ink and began signing the paper.

"Ms. Van Helsing…you're bleeding!" Richard commented.

Mary looked down at the small cut on the tip of her finger and wiped it with a clean white handkerchief. "No worries, Richard. It's just a flesh wound. I am an aged woman and I didn't get that way by dying after a tiny nick."

He smiled and took the paper, disregarding the two tiny bloodstains next to her name. "Of course, ma'am. Have a good morning."

"You as well," she returned as he left. When he'd closed the large doors, she rubbed her temple and sighed. She was so tired…after last night's escapades in the basement, all she wanted to do was sleep. But Carfax wouldn't run itself, and the overall computer security system was arriving today and she simply _had_ to be awake for that.

She spent the next few hours going through the building schematics, making absolutely sure that after this last upgrade, there would be no weak spot in their defenses save her own mental instability. When she was satisfied, she realized it was four o'clock and someone was knocking on her door.

"Come in," she beckoned.

The doors opened and in came the lithe figure of a young brunette woman, a muscled black-haired Hispanic man, and one of her few security guards. The guard nodded and left the other two alone with Mary.

"Sit down, sit down. Coffee?" Mary offered.

The man shook his head and the woman also declined. Mary nodded and folded her hands.

"I am told you represent SecuraSafe Systems. I have heard you designed part of the CIA's maximum-security prisons and storehouses. This is the kind of peace of mind I desire, and the money is of no importance," she began. "I have items which require much more than simple computer-controlled basic systems, but unfortunately I have no easy way of monitoring them. This is what I require your assistance for."

"You want a supercomputer that'll keep track of the entire system?" the man asked. "By the way, my name's Carlos Velora, and this is Anne Richter. We were on the team that designed the Secret Service's headquarters."

"Nice to meet you. You probably know I am Mary Van Helsing. And yes, I do want a supercomputer. Not one that will _control_ all the systems, just one that can track them."

"So all you want is an electrical system of 'cameras'? Is that all?" Richter asked.

"In a very-few-worded nutshell, yes."

She scoffed. "Easy as apple pie. We can have that up and running for you by ten o'clock tonight. And it's pretty cheap as well. Just give us a list of the programs you use and we're set to go."

"Well, then please go get acquainted with Bill downstairs. He's in charge of the guards; he knows all about the computers."

The two stood up and left. Mary let out a breath of relief; it would be ready soon. Soon, the only one who could ever get inside would be someone she trusted above all others; someone who'd never allow anyone to ever get in or out of that vault and would take the secret to their grave…

* * *

"Simon? It's Mary." 

"Mary? Bloody hell, what's merited a call to me at nine at night on a weekday? I gotta put the foster kids to sleep."

"Simon, I need a favor. It's terribly important. Can you be at the building tonight? I'll pay you back for your troubles."

"_Tonight_? Mary, I have work tomorrow. If you want a get-together, give me a few weeks' notice."

"It's about _him_."

A dead silence hung from the other end of the line. Mary waited, barely making out the breathing coming from the earphone. Suddenly he came back on again.

"I'll be there in an hour."


	3. No System Strong Enough

Simon, Mary, Richter and Velora stood opposite a large touch-screen computer console. The Puerto-Rican was programming the last few bits and pieces while Richter explained how it worked.

"You need three overall passwords to actually access it, and from there all there is to it is typing in six different keywords to shut down the other systems. Easy as very difficult pie," she said.

"We're hooked up, baby!" Velora exclaimed. "All we need are the passwords."

Mary turned to Simon. "Simon, I trust you more than I trust myself. I want you to give them the passwords."

He raised an eyebrow, and so did Richter. "What?" he asked.

"I can't rely on my own will much anymore. I know that you'll be the last line of defense against whatever tries to get in or out of…_there_."

He shrugged and Mary left the room. As she closed the door, she leaned against it and took a deep breath. This was it; she would _never_ lay eyes on that coffin again. Short of a pocketsize nuclear bomb, no one would ever see the inner chamber until Judgement Day.

She heard muffled voices on the other side of the door, and realized Simon was telling them the nine secret words they needed to lockdown the basement.

Soon the three emerged and Velora gave Mary a smirk. "Your man's got it all set. Thanks for the business."

Richter passed her as well. "Got any complaints, call us. We've got tech support 24 hours a day."

"Thank you. I'll be in touch," she said as they left.

Simon stood beside her and watched them go. "You're sure you want to put so much trust in a computer system? Hackers today…it's just another challenge for them."

Mary smiled. "I'm not stupid, Simon. There is much more down there than lasers and machine guns in the walls. My father had the right idea with triggered spikes and deadfalls."

"There's much more down there than just spikes and deadfalls, too. Are you _sure_ this is how you want it? I mean, are you sure it's secure?"

"If it's not, then God hasn't created a system strong enough to hold him back."

* * *

"Ms. Van Helsing, there are two men here to see you." 

Mary looked up and saw two black-suited men come into the room and sit down. Their solemn faces didn't put her at ease.

"What can I do for you gentlemen?" she asked.

"It seems," one began. "That you have recently received service from a pair claiming they represent SecuraSafe Systems. Is this true?"

She paused and gave them a suspicious eye. "Yes…what do you mean, 'claiming'?"

"Ma'am, we mean that these two are a con team. They set up security systems that only they can hack under the guise of employees of ours. Then, after the customer seems satisfied, they come in and steal whatever they just helped to secure."

Mary's blood froze. "What?"

"You heard right, ma'am. We suspect they are still around the area, since they visited you just…"

"Yesterday."

"Right. They are still nearby and are waiting to steal whatever it is you protected with them."

Mary stood up and braced herself on the table. "This cannot be allowed!"

"Ms. Van Helsing, we realize you are upset. We are offering to protect your valuables while we get some of our top hackers on the project. We're sorry for the inconvenience." They stood.

"When will they be here?" she demanded.

"Tomorrow morning. Remain calm, Ms. Van Helsing. There's no way they'd try to break in so soon after setting up."

The walked out and she felt a twinge of fear as the door closed. _Tomorrow's not soon enough. I'm not even sure _today_ was soon enough.

* * *

_

_The room is damp and chilled. She feels her feet stumble on the stone floor and she reaches out to touch the coffin. The metal is cold, almost freezing. Her warm fingers tense up and she feels someone standing behind her._

Do it, Mary. Let me out.

_She pulls back and curls into a ball. "No…I won't. You're not there anymore…you burnt half a century ago!"_

But I am. Turn the knob.

_"Never! _I'm_ not even here. This place…it's forgotten. It's locked down. You're forgotten."_

Never.

_She cries a tiny bit and feels someone touch her shoulder. She gasps and looks around quickly and realizes it's not him, but the woman…Anne! She is in here with her._

_"Anne, you need to get out!" she cries. "This place…"_

_But Anne doesn't speak. Blood drips down her neck from a thin, shallow cut. Her hands are bathed in red, and huge gaping holes leak blood from her palms. Carlos lies, dead, across the room in nothing but his boxers. His eyes are wide and blank. Anne's are the same._

_Suddenly he is there, across the coffin. She lets out a cry when she sees him climb over and sit on his own sarcophagus, leaning over and staring into her eyes._

You place too much faith in electricity, Mary.

_She shakes her head violently, holding her arms and curled on the floor. Her skin is freezing; she feels like ice._

You fear what can't touch you and then trust too much in what you don't see.

_She screams, and he bends down and quiets her with his mouth, and they are embracing and the same feeling of being torn apart goes through her…

* * *

_

"God!"

Mary sat up in sheer animal fear. She was relieved to see she was still in bed, but what was that little red light? Something was illuminating her room in crimson.

She eased out of bed and drifted over to the small computer console that sat on her desk. An image of two people moving down the basement corridor sent bolts of fright through her gut.


	4. Dream Come True

"Come on! The feds'll be here by morning! We gotta get this done _now_," Carlos hissed.

"Back off. I know what I'm doing," Anne shot back. "How many times we done this?"

"Not enough for perfection. Now put in the keywords so we can get this huge cross out of the way."

Richter keyed in some words on a small portable palm-pilot-esque appliance and a creaking noise sounded through the halls. The cross moved to one side, and they made their way inside.

"Holy Christ…" Velora swore when he saw the huge casket. "Is that…"

"Silver. Or platinum. Something expensive," she answered. "Get the crowbar; we're gonna pry these suckers off."

"Are you crazy?" he spat. "Why don't we just take the whole damn thing? It'll pay off more than just the decorations."

"Because _two people_ cannot carry this thing out of here. Now let's settle for the crosses and leave."

Carlos swore as he dug in his backpack for a crowbar. When he'd found one, Anne stepped back a bit towards the doorway as he went to work. When Velora got into it, standing near him and a pry-bar was lethally dangerous.

He tore off three smaller crosses from the edges when he finally noticed the relatively larger one in the center. Easing the bar under it, he pushed down hard and the silver crucifix popped off.

He caught it out of the air and examined it. The back had been specially attacked to the actual coffin, to a small tube of metal within that almost made the cross look like a…

"A key," he muttered. "Well, worst comes to worst, we can rob the dead body."

Anne was getting a creepy feeling in her stomach. Something wasn't right. Van Helsing had basic pitfalls in here; how come they hadn't seen any yet? Where were the medieval safeguards?

Suddenly she heard a horrible noise. Carlos had lifted the lid off the coffin a tiny bit, but suddenly a row of sharpened steel pikes dove out of the roof, pinning him through the shoulder blades to the sarcophagus. As he lay, skewered and whimpering in pain, Anne heard a screeching and spun around to see a wall of spikes fall down through the doorway. She threw out her hands to protect herself and felt both palms get impaled.

Anne wailed in pain and pulled her hands off the spikes. They were bloody and ragged, but she still made to help Carlos. His mouth was leaking blood all over the silver coffin and a stream of it ran from his back wounds.

She tried to pull the stakes out, and slowly they cranked back up. She pulled him off and lay on the floor with him, trying to stop the bleeding.

He coughed and sprayed blood over her face, but she didn't care. "Carlos!" she cried. "Please…don't die!"

"Anne…you…" he hacked, wheezing now. "Get out! I saw…I saw…"

But his breathing stopped and she whimpered in pain, physical and emotional. "Oh…Carlos!" she mourned.

Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder and she looked up. The last thing she saw was a wall of black and two red eyes in a pale face bearing down on her.

* * *

"My God! My God!" Mary ran along the open passage, silver stake gun in her hand and another tucked in her dressing gown. She had poured a canteen of holy water over herself, and was holding a blessed crucifix in the other hand. 

There was a draft, and she realized someone had been down here. Praying to God there was still time, she came upon the wall of spikes that faced inward.

She tried to see past them into the room, but with her failing eyes she couldn't see a thing. So she was forced to push a hidden button that raised the wall. She eased into the room slowly, looking around. When she saw Carlos' mangled half-dressed body, she let out a quiet cry.

"Jesus Christ…" she murmured. But the coffin was still closed. And blood was dripping from above; she looked up to see the retracted row of pikes dipped in blood. So he'd tried to open it and was stopped. Thank the Lord.

Mary looked around for the other half of the team. But she didn't see Anne anywhere. But something was wrong; something was missing.

And then she saw it. The cross lock. It had been torn off. All that was left was a circular hole in the lid of the sarcophagus.

She mustered up all her courage and moved closer to the box. _Open it. Just throw it open and launch an entire magazine of silver stakes into his chest, if there _is_ a chest left. He may still be ash…_

Mary grabbed the lid, threw it back and, clenching her eyes tight, fired four rounds into the coffin. But she didn't hear anything. No cries of pain or torture. Just the echoes of her gun.

She cracked an eye and felt her entire body go weak. Inside lay Anne's body, gaping bloody holes in her palms sending rivers of slow, dark blood over her ravaged chest and neck. Her eyes were open but cloudy. Dead. The four stakes were embedded in the sides of the casket.

Mary put a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. Never had she seen a more horrible sight. She was backing up to the stone wall to keep her fifty-seven year-old balance, when suddenly she realized she had already reached the wall. Sighing, tears beginning to flow, she sank down to her ankles.

"You're just as foolhardy as your father was, Mary. He trusted electronics too much as well."

Her eyes shot open and she whimpered. God, no. Please, Lord, Jesus, Spirit, who ever was listening, please don't let it be him…

"Don't you see? You'll never be rid of me." He caressed her head and she cried. Kneeling down beside her, he tilted her head so she had to look at him to know what he was real. She realized he was dressed in what probably had been Carlos' clothes. The black tank top was bloodstained and the dark jeans were torn at the right knee.

"The decades haven't been cruel to you, Mary," he soothed as she broke down. He stared into her face and she shut her eyes to him. "But you would still be mine had you not _hung _me. You'd still have your youth."

"This…isn't…_real_," she prayed. "You're ashes. You're gone."

He laughed in his throat. "Oh, Mary. Don't you see? I let you go from eternity…but you can't bleed yourself dry enough to kill me. I let you live past dawn so I could meet you again. And as long as you live, I will as well. I am inside you."

"I'll kill myself."

He laughed again. "That wouldn't stop me. But I won't let you."

"Try and stop me. The second you leave, I'll do it."

He hugged her close and buried his face in her hair. "Then you'll never leave my side."

Suddenly she slammed the cross into his chest and he recoiled, hissing. "Mary! You're not going to stop me."

"Then I'm going to hold you back!" she managed through her fearful tears. Turning tail, she ran for the exit as fast as her legs could carry her. But suddenly she tripped, and fell into his arms.

"Why do you run? When you know I'll always be there to stop _you_?"

She pulled out the reserve gun and fired into his chest. He fell back, growling from the pain. As he fought to pull out the stake, she made for the door. Just before he made it out, Mary slammed the vault door closed and heard his body slam against the inside.

_Mary._

"No!" she wailed, turning the deadbolts and collapsing on the marble floor. "Get out of my head!"

* * *

_The lobby is huge and cold. She is alone, but he is so close. He throws open the vault's door; the huge slab of metal rolling away and collapsing against the check-in desk. He steps out and stretches out his hand._

Mary, don't you see? No matter how hard you try…

_She tries to crawl away, get to the doors. But suddenly he is kneeling in front of her, lifting her up and they are in the air._

Blood will out.

* * *

"Get out of my head!" she screams, throwing herself against a huge column and knocking herself out to lose consciousness. 


	5. Never Would Have Guessed

"_Are you sure, Mary? I mean…you said he let you go. It doesn't matter anymore."_

_She nodded silently, tears in her young eyes. "It has to be done. We can't take the chance, Simon. You know that."_

_"I just think it's wrong. I never supported it."_

_"We _must_, Simon. We just can't overlook it. It's different…our situation."_

_He rubbed her hands and looked into her eyes. "We made a mistake, ok? That doesn't mean the baby has to pay for it. How can I convince you that there is no way what happened to you will ever happen to it?"_

_She shook her head. "You can't."_

_He sighed. "How about this; I foot the bill for _any_ security you want. Bury him in concrete, sink him in the ocean, send him into outer space. But don't get this done. Don't kill it."_

_Mary looked up and smiled a sad, wistful grin. "You really want it? What are you going to tell Leslie? That you went and slept with another woman who can't raise the baby without being sick every time she sees its face? Are you going to raise it yourself?"_

_Simon shook his head. "Please, don't get the operation. Put him or her up for adoption. But don't abort it. Promise me."_

_She looked into her lap and nodded slightly. "Alright. I'll have it."

* * *

_

_Suddenly, _he_ was in the clinic with them. As Mary was holding her baby girl, telling herself not to fall in love with it; as Simon was there with her and looking with pride on his daughter, _he_ stood in the doorway with a look of astound on his face._

_Mary saw him first. "It's a dream," she murmured, holding her baby closer. "He's not there."_

_But he crossed the room and crouched beside the bed. Simon didn't seem to notice him. In fact, Simon got up to go get a cup of coffee for himself._

_"Please…" she whispered. "Simon, don't leave me here!"_

He was pulling down the pink blanket a tiny bit to see the child's face. Mary tried to snatch her away, but he slowly pried her hands open and took the baby away.

_"No!" she cried out, but no one heard. He stood beside her, looking down on the babe with his sinister eyes and cruel grin. She reached over, grabbing the hem of his shirt and trying to yank him down so she could pull her daughter back, but she was so weak from labor._

_He knelt back down and gave the child back to its mother. Mary snatched the baby out of his grasp and cradled her, not willing to ever let him touch it again._

_And all of a sudden, he dissipated and Simon was back, smiling like nothing had ever happened.

* * *

_

"You're a sneaky woman," he laughed as she was coming to.

Mary's eyes were blurred, but she realized she was in bed, and he was sitting next to her. "What?" she managed.

"I never would have guessed. But your memories…I didn't have to guess. I needed only watch."

"You…" she hissed. "You…went into my memories! You saw-…"

"Everything. I was there, remember?"

"The…the baby…" she tried. "It wasn't…it's not-…"

"Shhh." He placed a finger over her lips. "It's no use lying. I saw. I know now."

"No!"

"Mary," he said quietly. "We could have gone on _forever_. But you wasted precious time; all those years. Now, you are too old. You tried to end my dream by locking me away and _living_. But you've shot yourself in the foot, with your little escapade with Simon," he chuckled.

"No…"

"You have _no idea_ what I'm going to do to her."

And he was gone.

* * *

"NOOO!" Mary screamed when she realized she was alone again. 

She frantically scrambled for the phone and dialed Simon's home number. When he didn't pick up, she tried his cell. Both attempts proved fruitless.

"God, oh _God_," she gasped. She threw open her drawers and sought out the phone book. Scrolling the lists, she finally came up with the one she wanted.

"Hello? Yes, I _know_ it's late. My name is Mary Van Helsing. I'm calling to find out where my daughter went twenty years ago."

The person on the other line yawned. "Ma'am, that's confidential. I'm afraid you'll need to be down here in order for us to verify your-…"

"When are you there till?"

"We shut down in an hour, Ms. Helsing."

She hung up and made for the car.

* * *

Mary knocked hard on the glass pane in the door. She practically wore off the "S" in "Sylvan's Adoption Agency" with her attack on the door. 

The lock made a click and the door swung open to reveal a squat old woman with horn-rimmed spectacles.

"You must be Ms. Van Helsing, then?" she asked.

Mary nodded and followed the woman inside. They sat down at a cheap desk and the woman pushed a manila folder towards her. She picked it up and leafed through it.

"But…there's nothing here. Nothing except my form I filled out that day and…a receipt for a dinner at a fast-food restaurant!"

The woman sighed and nodded. "Yes. It seems your girl wasn't adopted through us. She remained here for about ten years before she went missing. We finally tracked her down at a local seminary, where the nuns had already taken her in. We weren't able to extract her, and the sisters seemed truly happy to have her, so we let them keep her."

"Which seminary? I _have_ to know!"

"Ms. Van Helsing," the woman said, folding her palms and sighing. "For nineteen years, you haven't shown the slightest interest in your daughter. Now suddenly you are demanding to see her?"

"Yes!" Mary practically snarled. "I _must_ find her!"

The woman yawned and went to her computer. "We found her at the Magdalene Order of the Cross. Three streets east and two north; that's where you'll find more information."

Mary stood and left. By the time she'd gotten to the convent, it was one in the morning.

Sister Margaret Elizabeth let her in and sat her down in the church. They shared a pew and Mary kept asking about her daughter until finally Sister Margaret gave in.

"Ms. Van Helsing, your daughter, if this girl really is your daughter, is one of the sisters here at the Magdalene Order. Her name's Mercy Cypress now. Well, _Sister_ Mercy Cypress," she answered with a proud smile. "She just took her vows last night, actually."

Mary breathed a little easier. A nun! Perhaps she'd be a bit more protected from his reach within the confines of the church.

"Thank you, Sister," Mary sighed. "It means so much to me that you took her in. Had things been different…"

"Yes, I know," the elderly woman responded. "I'm sure you would have been a wonderful mother. Perhaps you still can be."

"No," Mary said, looking away. "I could never be a mother to my child. But I'm still happy for her."

"Well, that's all that counts in the end."

Mary let her gaze drift from the altar to a wall tapestry nearby. It was a rendition of the Last Supper. Instinctively, she looked to the end of the table to see Judas Iscariot and shuddered. He was out there, but he would never touch her baby. She was safe in Jesus' care.

"Goodnight, Sister. I'm sorry for disturbing you," Mary said, standing and making to go.

"Ma'am," she answered. "You look dreadfully tired. Perhaps it's not resolve you're looking for, but to have your guilt removed. One of the fathers would be glad to hear your confession."

"No, thank you. I'll be alright."


	6. Spring In The Twilight

Sister Mercy Cypress watched the woman leave the building and drive off in her car. Some poor soul, probably, who was looking for guidance. Mercy hoped she'd found it.

Meanwhile, she was in charge of putting out the candles that lit the main foyer. It was her favorite job; while all the other sisters save a few slept, she would walk the large silent hall with her damper and extinguish the little flames. Something about how the smoke curled up and into the high arches of the roof made her feel _safe_, as if the very building were the mother she never knew.

She took her long staff and started closest to the door so she could work closer and closer to the altar. This way she wouldn't have to walk back in complete darkness.

Being a real sister now; it was a dream she'd had since she was twelve. After only two years here in the seminary, she'd realized it was her destiny to pledge herself to God and wed the church. She straightened her habit and kept going down the long line.

Passing the basin of holy water, she realized she hadn't used it yet today and hurriedly dipped her finger in it. Crossing herself, she said a prayer for protection and went back to her job.

Suddenly, she heard a loud echoing knock at the heavy door. Taking her staff with her, she made her way down the half-darkened hall and opened the door.

Standing outside was a man with wavy black hair, dressed in a black shirt with a red button-down hanging open over top, and torn black jeans. He looked in at her with a sinister air, but she knew not to judge.

"Good evening, sir," she greeted with a smile. "Please, come in."

He stepped over the threshold, but winced when he saw the other end of the hall, which ended in the rows of pews and the altar.

"Are you alright? Do you need help?" she asked, clutching her damper to hold herself up. Something didn't ring right with this man; perhaps he was mad.

"No, I don't." His voice was deep and rich and everything she'd dreamed of in her fevered adolescent fantasies of puberty. Had she not remembered she was a nun of the Magdalene Order, she might have wanted this man instantly.

"Well, what can I help you with? Do you need a confession?"

He chuckled softly. "No."

"A place to stay?"

"My sweet princess, no. I need none of this that you offer me."

She was taken aback by his speech. But he did have a bit of an accent; perhaps this was his custom; to refer to a woman as "princess". "Well, how can I help?" she offered again. "Surely you need something."

He moved close and she felt herself frozen. His face was dangerously close to hers and she heard him inhale deeply of her scent. She knew she should be appalled at this, but somehow she wasn't. She felt it was perfectly normal of him.

"You smell…" he whispered, "like spring in the twilight. Like a Van Helsing."

"What?" she managed, unable to move and unable to speak any louder.

He grinned and put a hand on her staff, his fingers lightly touching hers. As he moved closer, she realized his canines were sharp, like fangs. His lips touched her forehead in a soft kiss, but instantly he pulled back with a hiss.

"Holy water. I should have known."

She was free to move again. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, moving away slowly. "What…who are you?"

He advanced, slowly but surely. "Why does everyone put such stock in names? We are given new ones all the time. Like we outgrow the old ones."

This struck her more than he realized. Having been renamed herself after having no name for ten years, and then gaining her Order name, she understood this statement.

"Then what are you _now_?" she asked, edging down between the rows of pews.

He laughed in his throat again. "Now? Now, my dear, I am that which you have spent the last ten years of your life preparing to face."

"I don't understand."

"You don't have to. But how like the Powers Above to give me this one final irony; that you would grow to be a _nun_." He said the last word with an air of someone spitting out poison.

She touched the altar and used it and the staff to brace herself. "There's nothing wrong with it. It is an honor to be one of the Magdalene order, and I'm proud."

He threw his head back and sighed exasperatedly. "And now, now that I am _so close_…I cannot _touch_ you." He stretched out a hand and caressed her cheek, and she flinched.

"Let go…"

"It's all I _can_ do, for now." He pulled back. "What is your name?"

"M-Mercy. Mercy Cypress."

"Until our next meeting then, Mercy." The man took her hand and, wincing a bit at the pain of the dried holy water on her fingers, kissed the back of it and fell away. Suddenly, as if he'd never been there in the first place, he was gone.

She stood stock-still; afraid to breathe. Surely she'd just encountered a demon of some sort; some monstrous thing that had no place in a church of God. She had to speak to a father.

Rushing out of the seminary, she made for the small monastery not a hundred yards away. Sliding in at such a late hour – or early, depending on one's point of view – was understandable, however, for the guilty conscience never sleeps.

"Father Avery? Father Sebastian? Brother Marcus?" she called quietly.

A black robed figure stepped out of the shadows and she gasped, then breathed deeply when she saw who it was. "Oh, Father Sebastian. I need a confession."

The bespectacled priest nodded and smiled calmly. "But of course, Sister Mercy. The Lord will always listen, no matter the hour."

They sat down at one of the pews and she bowed her head. "Forgive me, Father, for I might have sinned. I'm not sure if I have or not."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"This evening, I was visited by…well, it might have been a vision or it might have been a real man. But whatever it was, it seemed to make me feel…_dirty_. Just by looking at it, I felt like I had no right to live, to take another breath. I felt as if it wished, I could die instantly, and it was holding this feeling over me as if taunting me."

"Calm down, Mercy. What exactly _was_ this vision?"

She looked up into his eyes, and he realized she was terrified. Her green eyes were alight with the carnal fear of the human being and he was scared for her.

"It was a man, Father. A man who I feel as if I've known forever, but never met. I don't understand it, and I don't want it. Please, if there is anything the church can do…"

"Mercy," he began, taking off his glasses to rub them clean. "Understand that whatever visions you may be seeing, they may be manifestations of your insecurity. You took your vows last night; perhaps this is your mind finally grasping the idea of forever abjuring the company of men."

"No, sir. I thought that at one point during the meeting, but I pushed it away. And the vision persisted."

"Well, then you must pray to the Lord to help you. Should it go on, we have a small amount of money that could pay for a therapist or maybe a recovery course, should it come to that. But you should try the Lord first, above all things."

"Alright, Father. Thank you for your guidance."

She stood and left.


	7. Meeting Mercy

_The room is cold again, and she clutches the covers ever tighter around her. Her green drapes swirl around a shadowed figure who stands outside the protective ring of deep jade. _

_Suddenly he pushes the curtains aside and she shivers beneath the sheets. He bends down and smirks._

You have no idea what I'm going to do to her.

* * *

_Suddenly they're in a church. She's standing at the end of the aisle of pews and he is there, clutching a woman dressed as a nun. He pulls away and she sees a trail of blood tracing its way down his chin, away from the sharp white canines. The woman in his arms whimpers and cries out._

_"Our Father, who art in Heaven…hallowed be thy name…"_

_Suddenly he turns back to her with a scowl. Placing a finger to her lips, he tries to silence her. But her lips keep moving in time to heartbeat._

_"Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, on earth as it is in Heaven…"_

_He is infuriated and grabs onto her throat, letting the blood from the twin puncture marks gracing her neck spill over his fingers. He tries crushing her windpipe, but she still says the Lord's prayer._

_"Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our debts as we have forgiven our debtors…"_

_He howls and plunges his teeth into her neck, seemingly trying to pull her very soul out of the veins. The woman's speech slows, but her cold lips manage the final phrase._

_"And lead us not into temptation…but deliver us…from evil."_

_The woman falls from his arms, limp and motionless on the floor. Mary gasps as the girl hits the floor, but knows instantly that she is dead. He however ignores the woman and starts for her._

Blood of my blood.

_"You killed her!" she screamed, picking up a candelabrum and pointing it at him. _

I took what was mine. _She_ was mine to have.

_"Liar!" She plunged the lit candles into him, but before they could catch he had blown them out. Then, with a satanic grin, he pushed them away and grabbed her, and before she knew it they were kissing and her heart felt like it was being torn in two. Glancing down, she realized his hand had plunged into her chest and blood was spilling out everywhere and she could feel a dull pain within…

* * *

_

"Mercy!" Mary twitched and her eyes focused. "He's going after Mercy!"

"Mary, are you alright?"

The unfamiliar voice threw her off for a moment, and she searched the darkness before finding Simon's face in the shadows.

"Oh, Simon, he's going to take Mercy and do something…_horrible_!"

"Mary, who the devil is Mercy?"

She gave him an incredulous look and cocked her head. "Our _child_. The one you told me to have and give up for adoption! Now that she lives, he knows! Oh, God, he knows!" she wailed.

Simon was frozen. "Why? What? What would he want with her? He released you!"

"No, no," she cried, hugging her pillow. "He let me out of being like him. He knew he'd burn in the sun and I would too, so he let me go so I would stay alive. He knew, he _knew_! He'd planned it all along, from the instant he hung high over the street!"

"Mary, calm down! Just calm the hell down. We still have time-…"

"No," she sighed. "No, we don't. It was too late the minute I held her in my arms for the first time. He saw her in the memory. He _took_ her out of my hands, Simon, and you didn't see a thing. He held her and saw her face. He found out."

Simon sat still, considering this while Mary tried to control her sobs. "I never knew what he wanted before. If he just wanted company, I'd still suffice. But he wants her _young_."

"Mary, do you know where Mercy is?"

"Yes."

* * *

It was eight in the morning when they'd reached the seminary. Making their way through the large doors, the elderly couple looked for a friendly face. Spotting a few nuns clustered by the prayer candles to one side, they made for them. 

"Good morning, sisters," Simon greeted cheerily.

The women turned around and looked rather shocked at the sight of a man. But the nun from last night, Margaret Elizabeth, recognized Mary and smiled. "Well, by the faith, look who's here again? Are you feeling better, ma'am?"

Mary nodded. "Please, it's desperately important that we see Sister Mercy Cypress. We realize this is rude and untimely, but it may be a matter of life and death."

The women were shocked and would not answer. After a few moments, Margaret met her eyes. "Ma'am, Sister Mercy is not well. She…well, she believes she had a strange vision last night, so the Mother Superior recommended Mercy spend the day in prayer. She can't be reached. Perhaps tonight-…"

"Tonight is too late! Please, we _must_ see her during the day."

Margaret nodded slowly. "Alright. I will see if she can be spared, although it's very doubtful."

In only fifteen minutes, before Simon and Mary stood a young woman, no more than nineteen or twenty. Her wavy brown locks were held back by her nun's habit, but even the garb couldn't hide her large green eyes that sang of years raised in a seminary and recent trauma.

"Sister Mercy?" Simon asked to be sure.

"Yes, sir? What can I do for you?" she responded quietly.

"We must speak to you, and I recommend it be alone. Is there somewhere we can go where you'll be more comfortable?"

Mercy looked worried and looked to Margaret for guidance. The older nun motioned her to go with them, so she turned back and nodded. "Please follow me."

They traveled through the church and finally reached a small room that came off the main stage. "This is a room the preachers used to use for preparation, back when we gave sermons here," Mercy explained.

"It's very nice," Simon answered, admiring the stained glass.

"Please, sit down," the sister offered, and all three did. Mary was the first to speak.

"Mercy, you're in danger."

Somehow, the nun didn't seem fazed. She just sat there, her eyes sort of glazed over and her face expressionless.

* * *

_Her room in the seminary is dark. A window is pushed open. She prays at her bedside._

_Suddenly someone else is in the room, but she doesn't turn to see who it is. She knows. She knew he'd come.

* * *

_

"Sister Mercy, did you hear me? Someone, someone very dangerous, is coming after you. He might want to kill you. Do you hear me?"

She didn't blink at all.

* * *

_She mutters the last few lines of the Hail Mary, and climbs into her bed, pulling the brown cover over her calmly. Someone sits down on the side of the bed and she feels them bend down and claim her lips with their own. A dull pain is shooting in her chest, bit she ignores it as slowly he climbs on top of her…

* * *

_

Simon stood and grabbed her shoulders, shaking her slightly. "Don't you hear what she's saying? A monster is coming after you and if you don't arm yourself with whatever you have here in the church, he's going to do something horrible!"

Suddenly Mercy twitched. She "woke up" and gasped. "Lord…my Lord…" she whispered to herself.

"Are you alright?" Mary asked, looking worried.

"I-…I'm alright. I'm fine. What were you saying?"

"Someone insanely dangerous is coming after you. You must take whatever holy precautions you can. Bathe in holy water, dress in crosses, wear silver necklaces. You must ensue he cannot touch you," Simon urged. "He won't hurt you if he cannot touch you."

"Who is it? What demon is repelled by artifacts of the Lord?" she asked, bowled over. She didn't tell them or even give them a hint that she'd already "met" this monster.

The two older people looked to one another, and Simon sighed. "A vampire. Dracula."

He half expected her to break out laughing at his words. How surprised they were when she nodded and seemed to accept this. "Alright. But how do you know this? Who are you?"

"We're your parents."


	8. From Here To Kingdom Come

Mary and Mercy were embracing, and Mercy was crying a tiny bit.

"Why didn't you ever visit? Send word? I'm not angry at you!" Mercy cried.

"I couldn't. I was so afraid for you; that this would happen. And now it has and for once I feel like I should act my station more than ever. I know it's pushy, but I may be the only one who understands what you're going through," Mary sobbed as well.

Simon, who was rubbing Mercy's back reassuringly, sighed. "Ladies, I know this is a tender moment, but we have bigger fish to fry. We need to get Mercy somewhere safe."

"Safer than a church?" Mary asked.

"Yes and no. _This_ church is no good anymore; he knows where she is. Between now and dusk, she needs to get to another church where we've got a good supply of crucifixes, holy water, bibles and other religious paraphernalia."

"Yes, you're right," Mercy answered, standing up and straightening her habit. "We must do this."

"That's the spirit. Come on, Mary. Let's go."

* * *

Merely hours later, they were standing in front of the Notre Dame cathedral in Paris. "This is the safest place we can get you, Mercy," Simon explained. "Short of the Vatican, who'll never believe us in a hundred years, this might be the holiest establishment from here to Kingdom Come." 

"It's so beautiful!" she gasped, looking up at its towering spires.

They ascended the steps and knocked on the doors. One swung open and in front of them stood a short monk, dressed in brown robes and his eyes wide.

"_Oui_?" he asked.

"Oh, damn!" Simon cursed. "I forgot; they speak French."

"It would make sense," Mary smirked. "We _are_ in France."

Simon turned back to the monk and tried to get through to him. "We…need…to…see…the…head…priest!" he explained, making significant hand motions and generally looking like a fool. "Understand? Head priest!"

The monk cocked his head and in perfect English with only a slight accent he answered back with a slight laugh, "Follow me, please. And do stop waving your arms around; you look like a bird."

The three astounded people outside entered and followed the monk through the huge cathedral until they reached a large office in one of the wings. A tall man with gray hair stood to greet them and extended his hand.

"Wonderful to meet you. And look! A sister of the faith!" he exclaimed when he saw Mercy in her nun's outfit. "What branch are you from?"

"The Magdalene Order of the Cross in London, Father," she answered.

"Ah. Lovely little seminary; I visited once. Now, what can I help you with?" he offered.

Simon responded first. "This nun needs sanctuary, Father. Something terrible will happen to her if she remains in the convent that she came from."

"Sanctuary? Well, of course we can offer that, especially for a sister. But what from, sir? Who would want to harm a nun?"

"Father, you'd never believe us if we told you."

The man raised an eyebrow and nodded. "Fine. She is our welcome guest for as long as need be. What do you need?"

"Just a bible, some holy water and a crucifix, Father, thank you," Mercy requested.

"Well, included we'll throw in a bed and a roof over your head," he smiled. "And what of you two?" he asked of Mary and Simon. "Do you need a place as well?"

"No, thank you. It's just for her."

"Come then, Sister…?"

"Mercy Cypress, sir. Sister Mercy Cypress."

"Yes. Come along then. It was nice meeting you two as well."

They watched Mercy leave with the priest and Mary sighed. "If she isn't safe here, we might have to take her to the Vatican. Maybe we can make them understand…"

Simon shook his head. "There's no way. They'll think we're heretics. This is the absolute _last_ line of defense we've got for her. And we can't fight him like last time; we're too old."

She gave him a stern look. "Excuse me? I'm only fifty-seven!"

"And I'm sixty-two. We aren't exactly spring chickens," he laughed.

"I can still slap with the best of them."

"And I'm sure with all your slapping, he'll just turn tail and slink away. Fangs and charisma be damned."

She pouted a bit, rather unbecoming for a woman of her years. "We should stay close," she insisted.

"That we will. I saw a hotel about two streets down. Let me call Leslie and tell her."

"What on _earth_ are you going to say?"

"The same thing I always say when I'm coming to stay with you. 'My sister's medication is off and I'm the only one who can calm her down long enough for the doctors to sedate her.'"

"You always know just what to say."

* * *

Mercy stood beside her small bed in one of the forgotten rooms that lined the upper levels. It had been quickly outfitted as a makeshift bedroom and the priest made sure she received a small basin of blessed water, a bar to kneel and pray on in front of a cross fixed to the wall, and a bible. 

She had insisted that she didn't need a space of her own, but he wouldn't be fazed. He was determined to protect her from the unnamed evil, come Hell or high water. She respected that and silently praised him for it.

Seeing a small window above her bed, she sucked in a breath and quickly locked it. Then she knelt on the bar and began a Hail Mary. She was so immersed in prayer that she never noticed the small wisps of fog leaking in from outside the door.

* * *

_The cathedral hall is huge and echoes with sounds that seem to come from nowhere. She realizes she doesn't have her habit on; her hair hangs loose over her nun's dress. Worrying that someone might see her like this, she rushes through the great hall, looking for the hallway that leads to her room._

_She sees someone at the altar, lighting the tapered candles. Afraid to show herself, she ducks behind a pillar and waits for the father to finish and leave._

_But the funny thing is, no matter how many candles he lights, more appear to replace them, or others go out. So he keeps dipping his light down onto the wicks for quite some time._

_Finally she gets up the nerve to try to dart across the great hall without him seeing her. She makes it ten feet, halfway there, when suddenly someone is standing in her way as if from nowhere._

_It's the man. The one from before, and he is in a Father's smock, darkly smiling._

_Before she can stop, she runs smack into him, but he doesn't move. Instead, he puts his hand behind her head and suddenly they're kissing and she can't break away and the same ripping feeling explodes in her gut…

* * *

_

"Mother!"

Mercy's eyes snapped open and she realized she was crying. Wiping away the tears, she gave a sidelong glance at the window and realized it was still very dark. It was probably around two or three in the morning from the way the church was still empty and still.

Her skin prickled and she touched a hand to her face. It had seemed so very real! What under God had that man been, that he could make her feel like this? Like she was so insignificant, so unimportant, even to herself? How could any of God's children invoke these kinds of feelings?

She shook her head to wake herself. Sitting up, she let out a breath of air and mentally steeled herself. _You are hundreds of miles away. You are hidden in a house of God. No demon could ever set foot in here. You are safe._

_No, you're not._

The second voice of her subconscious surprised her. Trying to hear the quiet voice in the back of her mind, she held her breath.

_No matter where you go, or how hard you try…_

_Blood will out._

"But I have no strange blood," she whispered into the darkness surrounding her. "My parents; I just met them. They're fine people. And I am a sister."

_Tainted blood. Unclean blood. You are not human._

"I am!"

_You are better than that._

"I am not!"

_You don't belong in that cathedral. God doesn't want you there. Leave._

"I will not!"

She realized she was standing now, in her white bed gown and shouting at the shadows. A scuffle from outside and an elderly nun poked her head in the door.

"You alright, child? I heard noises."

Mercy gave her a blank stare. "Yes, Mother. I'm fine. Just…just a bad dream."

"Alright. Get some sleep, sister. Duties commence in three hours." She left.

Mercy got back into bed, a little afraid, and decided she'd ask her parents about it in the morning.


	9. Swear On The Bible

"Mary. Mary. Wake up, Mary."

Her eyes fluttered and she gasped. But a strong hand gripped her mouth, muffling her cries. His face materialized out of the darkness and he had a finger to his lips to signify silence.

"Stay quiet, Mary. Or your precious Simon won't see dawn."

Her eyes instinctively looked over to Simon's sleeping body in the other twin bed. They had opted to share a room and he was now slumbering peacefully, unaware of the intruder.

"What do you want?" she hissed.

"Your daughter's blood," he laughed. "But you knew that."

"You won't have her. She's safe. You'll never touch her."

"Then I'll have to settle for you."

Before she could move away, he'd bent down and had sunken his fangs into her neck. But in an instant, he'd recoiled and winced in pain. Smoke drifted from his lips.

"You don't think I was stupid enough to go to sleep without rubbing holy water all over me, did you?" she asked snidely.

"I was counting on you being stupid enough, actually. When you get old, memory's the first thing to go, you know."

"I'm an exception."

"Regardless, you can't stop me from gutting you and Simon like fish. The only way I'm leaving this hotel room without killing you both is if you tell me where she is."

"Why would any mother sell out her own daughter?"

"Because you're not her mother," he snarled. "You gave birth to her, passed on the blood like your idiot father before you. But you were _never_ that baby's mother."

This struck home. He could see it all over her face, and his lips widened in a grin. "What do you care about one more life? Don't you see? Give her to me and you'll be rid of me, _forever_. I'll swear on anything you wish that you'll never see me again."

"Swear on the Bible."

His face darkened instantly; enraged at the obvious attack on his complete lack of faith.

"Go on, _Judas_. Swear on the Bible. Swear on the crucifixion. Swear by Jesus Christ and I'll tell you everything. Nothing short of that will get me to utter a syllable about her."

His face twisted into the very picture of fury. "Fine then. Die and tell the Lord what stupid cause you gave your life for. Maybe he'll figure it balances out the blood you took from _me_!"

Then he slammed his fist into her gut with all the preternatural strength he had in him. Grasping her jaw tight so she couldn't get out a single cry of pain, he yanked his hand up hard, grasped the organ he wanted, and gripped it tight.

She was past wailing; now she silently cried, unable to make a sound. Blood spilled everywhere, and her breaths were ragged. He moved his hand and heard her quiet words.

"Have mercy…" she pleaded. "Please…have mercy!"

He laughed in his throat. "I will, trust me. You can be sure I'll have Mercy, and it will be beyond any pain and any horror that you can imagine. And you'll be there to see it."

And he withdrew his hand, leaving her chest cavity wide open with the heart pumping wildly.

He quietly called an emergency vehicle for her form the room and was gone the instant lights started flashing in the parking lot below.

* * *

"My God, Mary. How come you didn't scream?" Simon demanded a few days later. "You could have _died_!" 

"No, I couldn't have. He doesn't want me dead. He wants me to see him do whatever he's going to do to Mercy. I won't die from him until he wants me to," she coughed.

The doctors were amazed. How anyone could have their chest split open in their near-sixties and survive the incredible blood-loss was beyond them. But survive Mary did, and she was actually coming around fine after four blood transfusions. They might even let her out within the week.

"But he doesn't know…where she is?"

"It's only a matter of time. I think…I think she's seeing the visions too. And he's getting closer. I need to get up…" She tried to sit up, but Simon physically held her down.

"You are not bloody moving _anywhere_. Mary, I don't think you realize; you have had your gut split open and your internal organs messed with. No one expected you to live through the first five minutes after it happened! And look, you're damned lucky to still be breathing two days later and recovering. So let's take this slow."

"We don't have _time_ to be slow! Simon, if you won't let me go, then you have to. You need to make sure Mercy's alright. If he finds her…something terrible is going to happen to all of us, not just her. It's not just Mercy's life on the line; I can feel it."

He sighed and sat back. "A woman's intuition, I expect?"

"Yes. And we're almost _never_ wrong."

He rubbed his eyelids and took a deep breath. "Mary, what can we do? We are a pair of old geezers who are nowhere near spry enough to make even the slightest stand against him. With us is an endless supply of ignorant priests who have no idea how to fight him and one innocent nun who is scared out of her wits because two people just showed up and claimed she was in danger. The odds aren't in our favor."

"Then we're going to have to stack the deck."

"With _what_? Mary, I just told you _all we have_. There's nothing to stack the deck _with_!"

"Simon, let me make this clear to you," she said, deathly serious and glaring at him. "I am fifty-seven years old. I just had my entire torso ripped apart two days ago and here I sit, ready and raring to go. So _don't_ you tell me we have nothing to work with. As long as we can walk and talk and hold a silver stake, we can fight."


	10. He Knows

_Mercy…_

Her eyes went wide. "No. No one's there. Stop it."

_Come outside, Mercy._

"No. It's raining. I'll get wet."

_Come out, come out, wherever you are…_

"No…" she whispered, huddled in her room. _As long as I stay in here, he can't find me. But if I step outside the church, outside these stone walls, I'm as good as-…_

_You won't die. I swear it._

She looked up suddenly and her eyes found the window. It hung open, letting in the damp air from outside. The rain fell past her sill and glimmered in the sunset and streetlights from stories below. She felt a soft breeze play in her loose hair, and for a moment she closed her eyes and lost herself.

_Someone was next to her, touching her head. She kept her eyes closed, however, and their touch moved down to her cheek._

The wind itself seemed to sing "Mercy…" and she felt herself rise and walk towards the door, her eyes still closed tight. Her white cotton gown billowed behind her as she stepped out of her room, moved down the hallway and descended a spiral staircase.

Mary, miles away, had her eyes closed as well and she envisioned herself standing in the hall behind Mercy as the young woman slowly crossed the huge foyer and made for the doors.

* * *

_"No, Mercy!" Mary cried, a floor above and leaning over the railing as if she could reach out and hold her daughter back._

_Mercy kept walking, her eyes closed, her face tilted up as if she were dreaming. As Mary watched, horrified, Mercy reached out and touched the front doors and they slowly swung open. And he was standing outside._

_Amazed, he caught sight of the white-robed, dark-haired beauty that was on the top step of the cathedral stairs. As Mary screamed to Mercy to get back inside, he began to slowly move towards her. Finally Mary gave it up and, bracing herself, she flung herself over the side of the railing._

_Landing hard on the floor, she heard a crack and realized her leg was broken. But this didn't stop her. She crawled frantically for the door and was halfway there when he finally reached Mercy. _

_Stretching out his fingers, he touched her cheek and a bright light washed out the entire scene.

* * *

_

"Mary! Mary, stop screaming!" Simon was shaking her, and Mary almost had a seizure.

"Oh my God!" she cried. "Simon, he saw! I saw it; I was _there_. I was there in the cathedral and she walked outside and all of a sudden he saw her and he _knows_! We've got to save her!"

She stepped out of bed, grasping a nearby pole to keep her balance, and tried to shuffle towards the door. Simon tried to get her back in bed, but she smacked his hands away.

"Damn it, Simon, we don't have _time_! It'll be dark soon! We need to get there!" she spat, grabbing some clothes and making for the door. For the first time, Simon gave up and followed her to the street below where they hailed a cab.

* * *

"Mercy? Mercy, where are you?" Mary ran through the hall and came upon her room, but throwing open the door, realized her daughter was nowhere to be seen. 

She hobbled all over the floor before coming back to the room to see Simon standing there, staring at the wall. How could she have missed this? Scrawled on the wall in what looked like blood were Aramaic symbols and a translation below.

_Lafayette._


	11. This Is Where It Ends

Horrified and chilled to the bone, they stood at the entrance of the cemetery Mary herself had been kidnapped from forty years ago in New Orleans. Simon held a jacket around her shoulders, and they made their way within, slowly and carefully.

When they were completely immersed in crypts and stone coffins, they heard a swishing of fabric and mist drifted around their feet. They realized they were completely lost, and he was nearby.

"Oh, Mary. My rebellious Mary," his voice spoke, half laughing. "Be happy. She isn't dead."

The woman set her jaw, determined not to show weakness. "Then where is she?"

He appeared crouching on a crypt not twenty feet in front of them, smirking. "Tell you what; you find her, you can have her back, completely unharmed."

Simon began looking down the aisles of sarcophagi, but Mary gave Dracula a strange eye. Finally, she spoke. "We're not going to find her, are we? You're playing a game with us."

He threw back his head and laughed. "Ah, so you aren't as foolish as once I thought. Yes, you'll never find her on your own. Just as you'll never live to see another sunrise. This is where it ends."

Suddenly he was on the ground and clutching Simon by his elderly throat. Weak with age and frailty, Simon quickly suffocated and fell to earth, asphyxiated. Mary cried out in rage, mourning him.

But she wasn't given much time, because in an instant, the demon was in front of her, tearing open the old chest wound through her brown dress. Blood flowed and she collapsed of pain and exhaustion. Unable to move, she looked up at his towering figure, whimpering a bit in misery.

"I told you you'd live to see this. Enjoy it; every moment your eyes are open means another moment alive."

She watched as he strode over to a large above-ground crypt and slammed his hand into the stone wall. Pulling off some decrepit bricks, he grasped something within and suddenly yanked out the body of Mercy. The girl lay on the ground, crying out of fear and pain.

He forcibly held her down and in front of the girl's mother and the sight of God, he raped her. Right there, on the filthy ground, in the middle of a cemetery and in the presence of Simon's dead body and wounded Mary, he took full advantage of Mercy and when he was done, stood and stared down at the pitiful thing that once was a respectable nun. She was sobbing and trying to claw her way away, her hair wild and tousled and her eyes full and overflowing with tears, but he put a foot on the hem of her mud-stained dress and held her there. She slipped in the mud and her face fell into the dirt and grass, where she wept quietly mixing her tears with the old rain.

"What do you think, Mary mine?" he demanded. "Is this what you wanted? You could have killed her, you know. You could have spared yourself the pain of having your heart torn out and watching your daughter be torn apart, spiritually and physically. But you _wanted_ to keep her. Didn't give a damn about what could have happened to her.

"This _must_ have been what you wanted."

Mary cried, looking to the ground and clenching her eyes to banish the sight. "No, no! Never…"

"Oh, Mary," he soothed, suddenly in front of her and wiping away her tears. "Don't cry. Know that I won't ever kill her. She needs to carry on the blood. She's going to give me something I've wanted since I first saw you. She's going to bear me a child."

Mary's heart froze. _No!_

"The first of a race in _my_ image. She's going to be the mother of the second Adam or Eve. Can't you see? A world without death or age or pain. So don't cry for her. Weep because _you_ could have _been_ her, and she could have been Eve."

Mary clutched her stomach in the blazing agony and clenched her teeth. All of it was her fault; all of it. She was weak; she had damned her daughter to this sordid disgrace. And there lay the product of her pride; a whimpering, violated nineteen-year-old nun who never knew her own parents and was now probably pregnant with the offspring of a monster.

All of it was her fault.

_Of course it is, Mary. He even _told_ you what he'd do, and you'd never imagined this, and you did nothing to stop it save trust in a church._

_Nothing would stop him._

_You can't do anything._

Mary's eyes failed her and she felt an increasing sense of _peace_, of all things. Her heart was heavy, but somehow she knew it was almost over, even if it was just beginning. Soon she wouldn't have to feel the guilt, or the pain, or the disgrace.

Soon, she'd be dead.

She heard him only inches away, watching silently as she died slow. His breath was warm on her face, and she took slight comfort in it. At least she didn't have to go freezing.

She was too old for this.

* * *

Mercy lay moaning on the dirty ground. Her face was covered in streaks of mud and grass, and her dress was torn around the chest area and she was bleeding from several different spots. 

Half an hour ago, she'd been a different person. Now, she felt less than human. She felt like a _thing_, like a worm that was lower than the ground she lay on.

Her father lay dead only twenty feet away, is throat collapsed. Her mother might be dead or dying from a huge gaping hole in her chest. And she felt like she was suffocating in her own tears.

"Mercy, princess. Stop your weeping," the man placated. "They were extra baggage and useless to you. You lived for almost twenty years without them; you can get along now."

She dug her fingernails into the grass and tried to pull herself up; her defiled self moving only a fraction of an inch on her own strength. Gritting her teeth, she summoned all the power she had in her and sat up, gripping her freezing upper arms and feeling warm, salty tears wash her face.

"Oh, this is perfect," he ridiculed, grinning. "This is as I saw it. Although I never knew what kind of face to give you, be it your mother's or a completely new one."

He strode over and picked her up. She stood unsteadily on her own two feet, unable to break away from his iron grip. And as she tried to keep her own balance, he leaned over and actually licked the tears off her face.

"Cry some more, Mercy. The tears of the righteous are like wine to me."

Instead, getting up her gall, she reared back and spit in his face. "Hell-spawn!"

He scowled and wiped his face. "You'll come to see me in a new light in time. That's all you've got now, anyway."

"I'll _kill_ myself before I let you have whatever antichrist is growing in my stomach."

"I'll never let you."

"Stop me."

In an instant, she kicked up hard and took him in the gut. As he stepped back from the momentum, she spun on her heels and dipped down, picking up a sliver of broken brick. She'd just touched the point to her throat, bringing a drop of blood to the surface, when he yanked the weapon out of her hands, shoving her hard against a tombstone.

"Trust me, Mercy. You won't be able to. For the next nine months, you are guaranteed to live," he snarled.

But a weird glint was in her eye. He peered deep within them, trying to decipher what it meant, when suddenly he felt something warm blossoming on his chest. He looked down and saw that a huge spot of blood was staining his shirt, coming from a gaping hole in her chest.

In his blind fury, he'd slammed her up against the broken wall of the crypt, and one of the steel braces that reinforced the side had been bent sideways when he'd torn it apart. This steel brace was now impaling her through her chest.

"And guess what?" she whispered calmly and cruelly at him as he stared at the wound in shock.

"You played with us too much, too long."

He spun around to see the first light of dawn sparkling over the endless tombstones. As it sizzled his skin, he realized his dust would mingle with that of the cemetery's dirt. No one would bleed here, he knew. He would never be reanimated.

"Good morning, Dracula."


	12. Starburst Footprints

The authorities closed off all of Lafayette to inspect the incredulous scene. Two elderly people were dead; one choked and one gutted. The coroner said they'd been dead for over twenty-four hours; a whole day and a night had passed since their expiration.

But the oddest out of the massacre was the young woman who had been stabbed through the chest by the steel bar from a crypt. Her blood stained her white dress a deep crimson and fell into a pool at her feet. The strangest part of this gruesome death was that next to the pool of blood, there was a charred black shirt and pants. There was a strange starburst shape in the dirt next to the pool, as if many tiny rocks or pieces of dirt came together at the same spot.

And leading from the starburst shape was a set of bare footprints.

**The End**

**...of _this_ story, at least.**


End file.
